


At Odds

by moroseconcept



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Galra Lance (Voltron), M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Vomiting, fucking hell i'll add tags later i don't even know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moroseconcept/pseuds/moroseconcept
Summary: Lance was born into a high ranking military family, had been courted by and fell in love with Prince Lotor at a young age. Now their engagement was being announced to the universe at large and he couldn't be happier.Lance was  Galra, right down to his DNA. So why did he occasionally dream of blue skies and brown skin and friends who were clearly not his own kind?And what will he do, when his whole outlook is confronted with facts to the contrary?





	1. Paladin Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually posting. I haven't written proper fiction in years. This is unbeta'd.  
> Also, please forgive me. I just want my perfect blue sunshine boy to suffer.

No one had expected a second wave of Galra soldiers to appear, appearing as the smoke of the comrades’ defeat cleared. They had just started moving prisoners out of filthy cells towards the waiting maw of every lion. They should have known it was a trap, but they were lulled into false security by a swift victory, still riding high on the recent recovery of Shiro from something Slav had called a paradoxical rift. 

“Get to the lions, team. Rescue to takes priority.” Shiro called the command even as he waved more aliens into space occupied by Black. His call for retreat was met by a round of confirmation and then Lance spat out a swear. A child had fallen behind. The Blue paladin couldn’t leave them behind.

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine! Just pull out I’m almost there!” The noise dulling Lance’s voice from around him certainly didn’t sound fine, but there wasn’t anything they could do but believe him. Lance was a strong soldier. They all had faith. Black, Red, Yellow and Green took off, firing at the enemy ships as they circled waiting for Blue to appear. Lance’s radio silence was worrying, but then the Blue Lion appeared from around the warped side of the prison rig and joined the others. They timed their shots around one another while Allura reopened a wormhole for them, and as soon as it was ready, the Paladins fled.

On the other side of the portal, space was calm and quiet. The castle loomed ahead in the vast darkness and the lions glided smoothly into their hangars. Celebratory conversation dwindled quickly when Hunk called for Lance and it hit them all at once that h hadn’t responded any further. Lance was quiet like this sometimes after a mission and it meant one of two things without fail: he’d either lost himself in memories of his family or he was trying to hide an injury to severe to be ignored. Shiro got no response when he tried to offer encouragement, nor when called for a status report. Keith got no response when he tried baiting Lance into a playful argument, their bitter rivalry forgotten as a real relationship grew. Neither Hunk or Pidge could get him talking about Earth or family.  They were almost upon the castle now, and a tense silence gripped them. Shiro ordered him in a tone that none of them had heard since the Garrison, a tone that demanded a response, to give him a status report again. Again, he received nothing. 

Blue stumbled into her bay, a rough landing by the standards Lance had set for himself to treat her as good as he could. The agonized crooning that reached them through their lions had the paladins rushing from their lions to Blue, refugees left to tumble out behind them on their own.

 

Blue lowered her head for them and they crowded in close as Lance’s assigned rescue shuffled out the little door in solemn silence. A small violet alien approached them, followed closely by a nearly identical but larger form: a mother and child. They resembled harpies, with feathered bodies and sharp beaks. The child was wailing loudly as she extended her hands to paladins, revealing the blue bayard, tucked into a matching blue helmet. Keith snatched them up, turned the helmet over in his hands in search of blood, looked angrily into the lion’s body for a sign that it was one of Lance’s awful ill-timed pranks.   
“Your paladin was very brave.” The mother spoke quietly as she picked up her child and hugged her close. “He gave himself so that my son could get away. He was alive still when we saw him as we took off.”

A wave of fear and guilt hit the group. The apprehensive purr was particularly alarming since no one had ever heard the voice of a lion other than their own directly. Blue’s presence in their minds was urgent and sad. Her regret for leaving him behind despite what they could only assume was his insistence, left the Blue Lion feeling agitated and guilty. Lance was gone. He’d done what he set out to do, saved a child and finished the mission, but he was gone.

 

It became apparent over the next few weeks as they tracked him, and spoke to Blue through their own lions, that Lance was alive. Her voice had receded from them apologetically after the initial shock. They had taken the refugees who needed it to healing pods and transported them back to Olkari. The planet had become something of a home base to them over so many months, offering shelter and welcoming them even as they brought more creatures in need. The Olkari were always amicable, happy to help the Voltron Alliance get people back on their feet.

With the castle implanted safely in Olkari soil, the team was given time to plan, but something was very wrong, and Allura told them as much. Her connection to the lions was stronger where their life forces were connected and she was keenly aware that Blue was unable to reach Lance’s mind. The connection was there, and sometimes, if the paladins focused hard enough, they could feel him too. A tiny blue light, just out reach in their mind’s eye.

That didn't last long. And the Galra empire weren't giving them a lot of free time to grasp at what little connection they had. Voltron was needed. A new blue paladin was needed.

 

Coran was deeply moved, honored beyond words to take the position as the Blue Paladin. He was moved to tears when it was discovered that Lance was the one to make the suggestion, and had even left a video telling him about his bond with Blue and why he felt that she and Coran would get along in the event he was lost. The Altean was adamant that his position as a pilot was temporary.

“I'll only doing this until Lance is back with us and not a tick longer.”

Coran took his new role as the heart of the team very seriously, redoubled his efforts to keep them functioning and healthy. His methods were different from Lance’s but deeply appreciated. He'd helped Lance in acting as caretaker on a few occasions and taking the full load now was the least he could. The castle was quieter, less homey. Slav had everything running at maximum efficiency so the paladins were left with nothing but their own projects and each other. It wasn't bad. They had supported one another like this before, but without Lance…

Keith took their work as seriously as ever, but without Lance around his budding desire for fun and leisure withered. He trained until he was sick, studied Altean texts on diplomacy when he couldn't fight, and found himself snapping at anyone at every turn. The friendship that he and Lance had built and been growing into something more. The sudden absence of such a strong emotional presence in his life left him agitated. He’d yelled at Pidge, Shiro, and even Allura. Coran had evaded his rage thus far, offering to train with him and regale him with tales of Altea. And Keith couldn’t bring himself to yell at Hunk when the other so openly accepted his aggression and responded with an offered hug. 

Hunk for his part, seemed to gain a new level of determination and focus. He kept busy with project with Pidge, with cooking far more food than they need on the ship. He talked about Lance to everyone, told stories of their childhood that would have surely had Lance’s face redder than Keith’s armor. He sat with Keith quietly, hugged everyone often, and made a point of dragging Allura and Coran into any casual downtime they had.   
Pidge had never been seen without some piece of tech attached to her before, but now it was a tablet that the Olkari had helped her with and it was constantly in her hands. She’d managed to configure it to track quintessence- the blue lion’s to be exact- and was using it to try and corner Lance’s location. Anytime it picked up anything, she’d sit down immediately and set work, only to be pulled away from it by Shiro or Coran after hours of fruitless efforts. The one time Keith had tried to break her focus, to help, they had fought so venomously that the two didn’t speak for days.

Shiro trained with everyone in a cycle. He worked best on a schedule, always had. He laid out a timeline for rest periods, for team bonding, everything. The schedule kept him going, gave him purpose. So when his own allotted personal time inevitably came, he found himself drawn out to Black to mediate, or to Allura’s side for quiet conversations about nothing in particular. They were surprisingly like minded and began to look to one another for calm when the rigorous schedule was upset.

 

Time moved forward.

 

Two years had passed since Lance had vanished into the Galra empire. It had been a year since Blue had been able to feel his quintessence as more than a determined little spark on the edge of her own existence. Pidge had come to them only a week ago with the first possible lead in ages: a crowning ceremony. Lotor was going to be announcing his engagement and he was crowing praises of his intended to every inch of the galaxy, speaking of the marriage as something to further strengthen the empire. His personal ship would be landing on a neutral planet for the celebration which would be days long and full of gladiator fights and druid magic. It was a show of power to the universe just as much as it was an innocent celebration.   
The paladins decided unanimously, and Allura agreed, to sneak into the festivities. Best case scenario, they’d find Lance or something to point them towards him. Worst case scenario, they’d get away with some intel on Lotor’s inner circle. 

Pidge and Hunk finally revealed the fruits of months of their labor: small personal cloaking devices that would hide their race, warping their features into those of a predetermined alien species. It was an illusion, but mimicked Allura’s natural ability in principle. Pidge had it set so they looked like a species of Alien that were known for their neutrality- a sort of “space everyman” Hunk had called them. Their faces would be forgettable, which was perfect. 

Three days into the celebration and nothing had popped up. They had all agreed to avoid the fights for Shiro’s sake, though none of them wanted to see it anyway. Pidge had planted a few viruses to be released into the Galra navigation systems later, and extracted some little bits and pieces of data long they way. Shipping routes, current maps of different systems and anything about prisoners that she could find were now safely stored on her Olkari tablet.   
Keith grunted, pushing himself away from the steel pillar he’d been leaned against, watching for her as she tried to download something from a nearby ship. Hunk and Shiro were approaching with food. It didn’t have the familiar flare of Hunk’s cooking, or the stationary albeit unwelcome familiarity of green go, but it was good. Large pieces of sizzling meat and crisp vibrant fibrous plant life, all hot and stacked high on large plates. Hunk was bartering for spices and supplies at every turn, could almost forget his woes and the current situation in his excitement. He passed a dish to Keith, and sat down next to Shiro, who was watching everyone that passed them in the bustling crowd. Shiro had eaten as they walked. It meant he could focus on his team and give Keith a moment of rest before they moved into the pavilion at the center of market town. The regular residents of the planet Myloxt were clearly thrilled with the sudden increase in sales, but cautious of the military force’s presence.   
“This kind of reminds of that mall we went to before we fought, uh.” Keith glanced around, searching for a word that would imply he meant Zarkon without saying it. “The old guy.” he finally settled on. Hunk snorted, nodding even as he swallowed what remind him of a pastry.

“All it needs is a kitchen for me to get stuck in and a video game for Pidge.”   
“Yeah, and a water fountain for Lance to dive for money in.” Pidge tucked the tablet away in the hooded cloak she wore, finally taking her plate into her lap and digging into it eagerly. She paused in chewing for a split second when no reply came and her shoulders slumped. No one had really talked about Lance in months, and she hadn’t really meant to either, but hey the damage was done now right? Why not follow Lance’s lead and just say what was on her mind?   
“I had a dream about him last night.” She continued after inhaling most of the vegetation on her plate. “I can’t really remember it, but I feel like it was important.”   
No one said anything else for a long while, eating in a silence that all the paladins were very aware was there because of Lance’s absence. That was the status quo after all this time: everyone had acknowledged how quiet it was without Lance. Everyone hated it.   


  
“Alright team, looks like it’s time for the big event. Let’s go check it out.” Shiro finally sighed, stretching in place as he rose from their bench. Pidge rose up and moved in close behind him with Hunk at her side and Keith in the rear. Their small cluster moved with the flow of the crowd, grabbing at each other to stay close as the density increased and people were thrown about. Everyone wanted a look at the being that Lotor had finally agreed to wed. Apparently their identity was something of a mystery after all. The paladins were a good distance away, a clear path to the exit always ready, but massive screens floated above them so the stage was as visible as if they were directly in front of it.   
Lotor stepped out, long white hair tamed down into a thick neat braid with smaller braids whirled around his head like a crown, his armor and cape regal and shining and sharp. He face was impassive but every sideways glance softened his expression to something warm and giddy.

“My people.” His voice carried, even and dark and velvety. The cacophony of chatter died almost instantly. “You are the lucky few in all the universe that get to stand witness today. Even as we continue to grow the empire, at times our might is worn down. Today that ends. Today we bring a new strength to the empire by marrying in someone who will carry the bloodline far beyond our expectations up to this point. My fiance is a tactical genius. His mind has born countless successful endeavors for us already. He is an excellent soldier, strong in both mind and body, and the best rifleman that I have ever encountered. My love, if you will.”   
Lotor reached out to the of the stage, smiling.

A galra stepped forward. His build was slight compared to most of the soldiers, and he was just barely as tall as Lotor, but he was muscular in a way that belied strength to those with sharp eyes. He wore black armor marked with the Galra emblem in vivid blue, a small white cowl hung from his shoulders. A long lavender tail curled behind him, ending in a large tuft of almost black fluff. Lotor reached up and lowered this soldier’s hood, combed through his hair in a blatant show of affection that the other leaned into. The soft purple hue of his skin shone in the bright lights, the dark purple of his hair and large tufts of fur surrounding his large bat-like ears, the darker shade marking the sides of his face and neck were all clear indicators of his species. The unabashed love in his eyes spoke volumes for where his loyalty lied.  The glowing yellow that everyone in the Voltron Alliance associated with the evil of the empire was absent from his eyes. They were the most startling shade of blue that the paladins of Voltron had seen in two years. Even on a projected image, even from such a distance, those eyes bored right into their chests and clawed their hearts. _It couldn’t be._

Lotor and his fiance turned to the crowd as their arms wound around each other, hugged close. The galra smiled, waved at them.   
“Hail Lance of Galra.” Lotor spoke loudly, firmly.    
“Hail Lance! Hail Lance!” The chant rose up, volume shaking the ground. Cheers erupting everywhere.    
The galra laughed in a familiar voice.   
“Vrepit sa, my friends!”    
  
After two years of nothing but grief and frustration, the missing blue paladin had been found.


	2. Blue is Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crow, I did not expect the response I got at all! You guys are amazing!  
> I genuinely didn't expect this chapter to come out so fast, but here it is! I'm going to try to reply to everyone who comments cuz why they hell not.  
> Rating has upped a bit cuz stuff happens, and tags have been added as needed.  
> Still unbeta'd.
> 
> TW: vomiting mentioned in this chapter

His ears flicked in agitation. He hadn’t even made it all the way to the interrogation room yet, but he could hear the screams already. The air was thick and humid, smelling of iron and raw quintessence. It made the fine fur along his neck and arms stand on end, made his tail twitch where it was wrapped around his waist like a belt. Despite his distaste for the atmosphere, his shoulders remained squared, his pace casual, and his expression nonplussed. Every soldier he passed to ducked their heads to avoid looking down on him. His small stature was inconsequential in the face of his rank and capabilities. 

The captive was putting up an impressive fight despite all their howling. No one had gotten them to reveal any information in hours so, of course, they called upon the soon-to-be prince. His mind was sharp and his tongue was sharper. He’d be in and out with information in no time, surely. With this expectation, Lance stepped into the bright open space, cocked his head at the crumpled form in the middle of the room, curled up and quaking. The druid took a step back, bowed and murmured a quiet “vrepit sa” when he waved his dismissal of her, and vanished.    
  


It was just the two of them now.

Lance knelt in front of the creature he was there to interrogate, examining them in silence for several silent moments. They were somewhat similar to him in build and stature, not uncommon for lesser species, their skin was pale and mottled with bruising that almost looked like galra purple that-- “Oh.” Lance smiled. “You’re half Galra. You poor little monster.” He snatched a fistful of thick black hair and yanked up and back, revealing his victim’s face.

Unfocused violet eyes landed on him, and a confused noise caught in the little hybrid’s throat. The bruise across his nose, darkening around his eyes, was red and swollen on one side, all shades of blue and red and purple. His lips were dry and cracked, split and bleeding in spots. And the burn on his neck, still warm, was charred and warped. God, the druids were excessive. What if he couldn’t talk? Lance ignored the raspy noise the young man made, continued his inspection. Red and white armor, vivid turquoise marks that glowed despite obvious damage. The symbol across the battered, scorched chestplate was recognizable, still. Lance was holding a paladin of Voltron in his hands, the red paladin specifically.   
“Lance?”   
Lance’s eyes shot up the paladin’s. They were as wide as they’d go with the swelling, but focused solely on him now. The paladin swallowed, licked his lips.   
“Lance, it-it’s Keith. What are you  _ doing _ ?”   
Lance can feel his ears pressing back against his skull, hears the air pass between his bared teeth in a hiss. He jerks at the paladin’s hair harshly. That voice made his ears burn, made his chest ache. A few words had left him feeling suddenly wrong in his own skin. His goal when coming here suddenly faded into white noise and the paladin spoke again more urgently.   
“We’ve been looking for you this whole time and you were  _ with _ them?” Keith seemed angry, offended. Lance fell back onto his rump with a dull thud and scooted backwards a few feet. When had he let go of the paladin’s hair?

“Say something!”

Lance opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again.   
“Keith?” His voice sounded small but the name felt familiar on his tongue.   
An explosion shook the room and Lance watched as the wall that separated them from the vacuum of space was being crushed and compressed, torn away to be replaced by the gaping maw of a giant metal beast. A lion. He scrambled to his feet, drawing two small handguns from his belt as he rose. One aimed at Keith and the other at the soldiers emerging from the Lion’s throat.   
The yellow visor vanished into the helmet and Lance was sure he was going to vomit. Big brown eyes were filling with tears, looking him up and down, even as this yellow paladin raised an impressive gun at his side.   
“Oh man, buddy, don’t make me do this.” His voice was shaking and he looked so distraught.   
“Hunk, just keep him talking. We’ll get Keith.” The black paladin was sidestepping toward him.   
“H-Hunk will do nothing of the sort!” Lance snapped, directing his left hand to aim at the black paladin. His throat hurt, his head hurt. He couldn’t keep his eye on all of them at once and try to snuff out the suffocating noise in his mind. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and it wasn’t the fact that security protocols had been clearly hacked, isolating him with the enemy. Something was wrong because the black paladin was still moving cautiously towards Keith and Lance was hesitating to fire at any of them. He shot between them, a wide miss by any stretch of the imagination.    
“I-I won’t miss again.” he warned. “ _ Stop. Moving. _ ”   
His voice wasn’t shaking, nor were his hands. They couldn’t be. His gaze kept jumping from the black paladin to Keith, agitation and panic gnawing at his mind. A harsh burn  suddenly shot up his arm and the gun aimed at the black paladin was skidding across the floor. Lance snarled, whirled back towards the ship. His other gun, his only defense hit the floor with a loud clatter. He couldn’t really hear anything, couldn’t focus. The blue paladin was aiming a bright blue rifle at him, lowered but still ready. Their visor faded to reveal a bright orange mustache, glowing Altean marks, and remorseful eyes. Lance saw the black paladin move behind him, holding Keith, retreating into the ship, followed by Hunk.   
“It’s only until you come home, my boy. Blue is waiting for you.”

 

“Restrain me.”   
“Wha-but...but sir?”   
“RESTRAIN ME AND TAKE ME TO LOTOR IMMEDIATELY.” Lance bellowed, from his position on the floor. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten out of the sealed room, if he’d had help, or been saved by his junior officers or sentries; wasn’t sure how long he’d been seated on the hallway floor, shaking like a cub; wasn’t even sure how many soldiers were really around him. There was too much noise in his head, too much pain cracking his skull open. He felt like he was going to pass out right there, tunnel vision letting him see only the small burn on his wrist where he’d been grazed by the blue paladin’s gun disarming him.

A soldier dwarfed him in height and overall stature, fit his hands under his arms and lifted him like a child, activated glowing magenta restraints over his wrists and pulled him down the hall in a rush. Lance locked his eyes on the restraints, avoiding the gaze of any soldier they passed by with his head slumped and shoulders bowed. He was still shaking. The sight of his own hands, clawed and purple like always, was making him sick. The glowing cuffs terrified him. The soldier looming over him made him want to turn tail and run. He wanted to run to Voltron. He should  _ be with  _ Voltron.    
They had to stop as Lance retched loudly, bent to the side and vomited. Breakfast and bile seared his throat. He fell against the cold wall, heaving loudly. His stomach clenched harder than he ever thought it could and dark spots started to appear in his vision. He made a pitiable whining noise and spit into the mess, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The soldier, he glanced up at their face and finally recognized Taf, his personal attendant and guard, caught him as he teetered away from the evidence of his panic, then picked him up and broke into a run. He let his head fall against Taf’s shoulder, shut his eyes hard and tried not to make any noise. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. It was an unacceptable display of weakness for someone in his rank. Truly an embarrassment.   
  
Taf, for her part, moved swiftly, avoiding all halls that might have other living soldiers in them now. She was a lighter shade of purple than Lance, and kept her hair in a tight bun at the base of her skull. Her ears were huge, like the rest of her, and her bright yellow eyes were as expressionless as every other soldier Lance could remember the name of. She did spare him, to his immense pleasure, a few softer expressions when they were alone. Now was apparently one of those times, not that he minded missing it. He didn’t think worry or even disappointment would suit her strong features, and it certainly didn’t fit his taste to see it.    
  
A door hissed open, then shut, and they weren’t moving anymore. Lance opened his eyes in time to Lotor approach, eyes wide with panic. He fell into his fiance’s arms with a sob, buried his face in his neck, clung to the soft fabric of his shit until he felt it tear beneath his claws.   
“Treasure, calm yourself!” Lotor crooned, guiding him further into their shared quarter, until they were sitting on the large bed hidden beneath a dark canopy. Lance whined when the restraints on his wrists fell away, snatched at Lotor’s hand to get them back.   
“Please, no. I can’t be trusted! I let the paladin escape! I let them all escape!”   
Lotor threw them despite his admitted betrayal, the combed his hair back and scratched at the base of his ears gingerly.   
“I couldn’t hurt them. I felt like...I feel like I know them, Lotor. Like they were my allies rather than..” Lance swallowed hard, pressed his head into Lotor’s hand.   
Lotor exhaled slowly, the puff of air tickling across his nose, then began to remove his soiled sweaty armor. Lance let him. It took a conscious effort not to recoil, to hide from the decisive wrongness coiling in his gut, screaming at him to flee. When he was free of the armor and his underclothes, Lotor wrapped him in the top blanket from their bed and pulled Lance into his lap. He was crooning again, low in his chest, to offer comfort and Lance pressed his face into the familiar warmth of the embrace.

“I was reviewing the security footage before Taf brought you here.” Lotor finally said quietly. “You were all by yourself with the enemy and they were playing mind games with you. After what you’ve been through, I couldn’t ask you to handle it any better than you did.”   
“What I’ve been through?” Lance repeated the words, feeling sick all over again. Lotor nodded.   
“Do you remember when your fever finally broke, how happy I was to see you remembered me at all? The paladins had abducted you, poisoned you. Even Haggar’s magic struggled to pull you from it. I asked her to remove the memory of your torture at the hands of Voltron if she could, but it wasn’t necessary. You’d forgotten all on your own.”   
Lance was silent. That didn’t sound right to him.

“Of course we struggle still at times, when there are holes in your memory of our time together and our lives before, but you are strong Lance. I love you and I will keep you safe no matter what happens. No one blames you for what just happened and if I find anyone with a contrary opinion, they’ll be dealt with.”   
Lance didn’t say anything. That threat should have been leveled at him, not the entire military force of the ship they were currently aboard.

 

He could still vaguely smell the red paladin on his right hand. The scent from his hair and sweat tangled around his fingers and buried beneath his nails like it should have been there always made Lance sick, and combed through Lotor’s long silver mane in an attempt to fade the offending odor. He kissed Lotor’s cheek, then met his lips softly again and again until his fiance guided him back to lie on their bed. This felt good, felt safe. He could lose himself in the way Lotor doted on him like they were the only two beings in the universe. Lotor knew his body perfectly, slid his hands down his sides and around his hips to cup his ass, squeezed it once before moving on hand to the base of his tail and scratching at the sensitive skin there. Perfectly trimmed claws teased back up his spine while he arched into the touch, shivering from head to toe. Lance wrapped his legs around Lotor’s waste, pulled him down to kiss again more urgently. Lotor moved from his lips to his neck, biting and sucking across his shoulder with a warm tenderness that few new the prince was capable of.  He built the heat slowly, pay special attention to every inch of Lance’s slowly relaxing body, stroked him slowly, breathing sweet words and reassurances into Lance’s ear.   
Lance clung to Lotor, breath hot between them, hips stuttering when the pace finally picked up, mewling and moaning quietly. He came with a gasp and Lotor worked him through it languidly before wiping the mess with his shirt and sitting up to remove it. He smiled and bent to kiss Lance’s cheek before scooting toward the edge of the mattress.   
“I won’t penetrate you this, my treasure. You rest here where it’s safe. I shall go see to the mess those awful paladins made of your day.” He was gone through the thick canopy hiding them from the world before Lance could find his voice. After a dobash or two, a door opened the closed. Lance heard the locking mechanism engage, leaving him alone. 

 

Sleep did not come. Left alone in the quiet, Lance’s mind quickly began to reel again. Every time he closed his eyes, it felt like waves were crashing over him, filling his mind beyond its capacity with information. The onslaught of feelings and memories quickly took hold, drowning him even as he clung to the sheets and tried to bury himself in the pillows away from it.

 

Lance wasn’t just familiar with the Paladins of Voltron, had definitely never been tortured by them. They were his friends, his  _ family _ . Shiro was their idol and had been his hero for years. Their friendship had grown as Takashi Shirogane became more and more real and human in his eyes and now after everything they’d been equals, comrades in arms who discussed tactics and jokes in the same conversation. Hunk was his best friend and always had been. He gave the best hugs and knew Lance better than he did himself. Hunk was his brother in all things except blood. Pidge was a gremlin and his precious younger sister. He’d told her as much and she’d called him a cheese and told him to shove it. Keith was a friend who brought up confusing warm feelings when Lance stayed up to late, who was fun to fight with and fun to play with. He was odd for sure, but met Lance’s every challenge with his own. Allura was the Altea princess he had pined for at once time, but quickly moved beyond it. He had bonded with her as a person who missed their family and had just as many stories to share as he did. They had girl’s nights, they had late night talks and inside jokes that no one else was privy to. Coran was a fatherly figure, and a huge goof. He was that crazy uncle with stories that didn’t really make sense but were overflowing with experience and knowledge if you could pick it out. Coran was…    
Coran was the blue paladin.   
“Only until I come back.” Lance whispered into the dark of the bed he shared with his fiance, with the leader of the very oppressive evil that he’d been fighting to take down. “Blue is waiting for me.”


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is smart enough to know when something's amiss and quickly realizes that his lifelong love of Lotor is probably less than that. He makes the decision to leave and find his real family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this only took me a month and a half to publish.  
> I'm not sure how satisfied I am with this chapter but I wanted to get it out to y'all, so here it is.  
> Next chapter may be a flashback with more focus on Lotor and Lance's life together before this.
> 
> I also may or may not edit/re-write the first two chapters. They weren't beta-read and every time I review them I notice something else wrong.  
> So if anyone WANTS to beta for me, hmu.
> 
> This chapter is not betad, just like the others.

Voltron hadn’t let up since that awful day. They’d been attacking prison ships and captive planets, liberating them left and right. They’d taken out several generals, leaving a hole in the Empire’s defenses. Everything was a mess.  
“Let me take up arms, Lotor. I should be out there, fighting alongside you!”  
Lance was seated on their bed, draped in thin translucent layers of fabric that did little to hide the patterns in the soft fur across his stomach and over his hips. This bed was smaller, softer than the one on Lotor’s battleship. The room was meant exclusively for sleeping and intimacy with one’s mate; a room among many in the private home of a prince and his husband. They were no longer on a ship that traversed the universe to fight in the war. This was a small castle, orbiting the moon of a larger allied planet along with a number of other similar residences. It was the home Lance had shared with Lotor for years before being poisoned and losing his memories, and it was where Lotor suggested he stay indefinitely.  
“You can look through our plans and form better ones from here, my treasure. You’ll be far safer here than out where those nasty Voltron paladins can get to you.”  
Lance stood and helped to attach the last of Lotor’s armor to him, kissed him softly on the cheek. He would only be gone a few weeks, simply going to perform some ‘mandatory royal nonsense’ with Haggar and the other remaining generals. Lance didn’t like it. He didn’t like being left out, he didn’t like doing nothing; he also didn’t like Haggar but that was beside the point. Being left behind with nothing to do meant he’d have time to think and he wasn’t sure he was ready for what he’d find out if that happened. 

In the few movements since his encounter with Keith, Lance had been restless. Every moment to himself, every wandering thought, dredged up a dizzying wash of memories that left him overwhelmed and emotional. This was why Lotor had brought him here, urged him that this was the place for him to be. Lance would be safest and most stable surrounded by the familiar sights and scents of his long-time home. The foreign stimulation of war was obviously detrimental to Lance’s delicate health.  
“A fighter as fierce as you made even me shiver at one time, my treasure, but facing you in combat was thrilling and never scared me as much as watching you suffer does. I almost lost you to that fever. It took so much of you. Don’t lose the rest just for my father’s war.”  
Lance had taken those words to heart. Lotor loved him dearly, wanted him away from anything that could do him harm and had since they’d been introduced as betrothed cubs.

It settled wrong in his stomach as he sat thinking about it now. He was curled into a nest of blankets in a large window seat, watching Lotor’s ship depart with his face pressed to the cold glass. He pulled back from the cool surface when the warship blinked out of sight into the void of space. The blankets he’d buried himself in resembled a grey hood and it startled him enough to make him turn away. Lance’s attention moved to his shaking hands with a frustrated huff and he rose. Their room was full of warm memories, of loving encounters and gentle promises.  
Lance knew he loved Lotor dearly. The man treated him like a god, but spoke to him like an equal. Strong hands doting upon him, vibrant eyes glued to him. Lance loved him in that moment, but looking back, for a source to that love, thinking as far back as he could until his head hurt Lance found only a sour taste in his mouth and flashes of Haggar’s awful magic. 

Lance lept from his spot and started strip immediately; he tossed aside the sheer flowing fabrics that Lotor loved on him, let them crumple upon the floor as he rummaged through their shared wardrobe until he found what he wanted. A combat suit. Thick grey material that stretched and shifted over his form to fit snug against his skin without irritating his fur rose high on his neck and stretched down to his ankles and wrists, with only a small slice of purple visible in the back where his tail flicked out. His tail lifted curled around his hips. Lance pulled on his boots and black jacket, just long enough to hide his uncropped tail, then exited the room.  
The guards he encountered, though few in numbers were all equally surprised to see him though none vocalised these concerns, only blinked owlishly before nodding or bowing and marching away. Lance surmised his expression was that of someone that person didn’t approach for no good reason...and that was perfectly fine with him.  
He made it to the shooting range Lotor had built for him in record time, plucked up a sleek black rifle and typed in a quick sequence for training. The successive waves of close combat and long ranged droids kept his mind busy for a long time. He picked them off with easy, shooting with precision and quickly disarming any that moved in close. When a chime sounded above him and all but a few of them fell away, Lance groaned. The sound meant a cool down period, that his two vargas long training program was coming to an end. His ears flicked and he felt the sweat fly off them, felt it on his body where fur and fabric stuck together as he picked of the last few targets.  
He felt into a daze, firing on autopilot, familiar with the pattern he’d helped design. He blinked some sweat from his eyes, turned to finish off what he knew was the single remaining sentry and--

Lance choked on a gasp, took a step back instead of forward. The training robot’s dark grey and black steel and its purple lights were gone, replaced by white and gold like an Altean ship with blue lights to match. He raised his gun and it had changed too: now a soft dark blue sort of like his eyes. His hands were brown and hairless.  
“End training sequence!” He rasped out the words, dropped the weapon. Lance backed up until he hit the wall, slid down until his was seated with his legs hugged to his chest. His tail thrashed, a clear giveaway of his jittery nerves. After a few long moments where he took in the sounds of his own breathing and the quiet hum of the lights in the room, Lance looked down at hands. Still clawed, still covered in a fine purple fur. He swallowed hard and dropped his face into his palms. He’d been happier in that disorienting moment then he could ever remember being here. It was a tangible happiness too, rather than something abstract like the joy he felt from the stories Lotor told him.

A movement came and went. Lance stayed isolated in his and Lotor’s private room, away from the staff that worked in their home. He spoke with Lotor daily. The prince keeping him updated and clearly happy to speak with him, but Lance could feel his nerves fraying. He felt his smiles shrinking and becoming forced as he withdrew from the man he loved and solidified his resolve.  
The evening before Lotor was to return to him, he packed a small bag and headed to the hangar. It was easy to slip past guards whose movements he had memories, whose patterns were unerring clockwork in the residence. Getting the small ship powered up and out into open space was terrifying. He expected to be shot down at any moment, but even with his heartbeat in his throat and his pulse a deafening buzz in his ears, Lance manages to remember everything Lotor has taught him. He remembers everything Pidge and Hunk and Coran had taught him too. He disables tracking, cloaks the ship and opens an encrypted broadcast signal with a code that only the Paladins of Voltron were privy to.  
The little violet light blinked red and Lance looked to the recorder. He felt his ears droop as he stared at the little light, mouth gaping with a sudden lack of the words he was so good at spinning into intricate treaties and elaborate tales.

••• 

The shrieking noise Pidge had made into the intercom mic was less than dignified, but it had served the purpose as it echoed throughout the Castle of Lions. The rest of the team, were gathered around her on the bridge in minutes. None looking any less haggard than they had a varga earlier when they’d returned from another fight against Lotor’s Galra army interfering with their search for Lance. Shiro had ordered everyone to hit the showers and rest up, Allura had agreed with the notion and ushered everyone out of the lion hangars in exhausted silence.  
But this as important. She had been unwinding, just sorting through the countless broadcasts waves her computers picked up in search of any sign of Matt or her dad or Lance. It was monotonous, tedious, but oddly relaxing to the paladin of the Green lion even if it never bore any results. Until today.  
A code she and Lance had developed together, with his linguistics and her computing ability. It was actually pretty impressive, but Pidge wouldn’t admit that out loud, not to Lance.

“Alright, Pidge, alright. Take a breath. Explain in a frequency that we can all hear, maybe?” Shiro patted her shoulder, encouraging but clearly exhausted.  
“Yeah I mean, Keith can probably hear it with his Galra ears but the rest of us are just catching the wheezing squeaky toy noises.”  
Keith made a disgruntled noise, rolled his eyes, but gave Pidge a look that clearly meant he agreed with the sentiment that nobody was catching her words clearly. She gestured to the screen again, told them to just shut up and watch.

Lance appeared on the screen in front of them, bright blue eyes unmistakable even in the purple lights of a small Galra pod. His ears were low against his head, his shoulder drooped in a similar fashion. The emblem of the enemy empire emblazoned the armor on his chest. His throat bobbed with an audible gulp and his mouth flapped like he’d forgotten how to speak, but his eyes were piercing them through the light of the screen, fixed on all of them like he could see them.  
“This is-this is Lance, um.” His hand came up to the back of his head like it always had before when he was nervous and he looked around the pod he was in like it had the answers. The radio silence was echoed by the Paladins all gaping at the screen. “I don’t really know what to say, wow. I-I should have some kind of explanation right? But I don’t. I don’t really remember…”  
Lance looked back to the camera suddenly, ears twitching, eyes wide and almost distressed.  
“I remember Voltron, though. I remember being a paladin and I remember all of you. My pri--Lotor won’t answer my questions. I think...I think I’m not safe there. If you were serious, if you guys want me back, then please come get me.” Lance’s smile was a small fearful one before he looked away and the video feed blinked away to a small wall of coded text. Pidge was quick to translate it into a set of coordinates.

“We have to go. We’re going right? That was Lance. That was--” Hunk was bouncing on his heels, alive with the thrill of being reunited with their friend. “That was real right?”  
“It could be a trap.” Keith spoke up, arms crossed. He was hopeful and the galra in the video certainly seemed genuine, but they were still at war. “He could still be on their side.”  
Shiro nodded his assent. Coran was already putting the coordinates into the ship’s navigation and Allura was at the helm actively piloting them in the right direction.  
“We’ll suit up. We’ll be ready for the attack if it comes.”

It never came. The location provided by Lance was in a pocket of inactive Galra territory so distance and unpopulated that even sentries had stopped being sent to patrol millennia ago. No enemy technology showed up on their radar except for a single blip that indicated minimal power - an escape pod. The planet was extremely, only an asteroid really, and almost entirely aquatic except for a singular continent that barely qualified as an island. It was barely large enough for the castle to land, but Allura insisted they all be present for this reunion.  
Despite the lack of signs of life in scans, everyone stepped out onto the warm sands with their weapons drawn. They group of six walks up the beach in a mute cluster until a lone figure comes into sight on the beach.  
Lance looked frail and so very small. The water was lapping at his clawed purple feet. His only wearing the bottom half of his grey under armor; all the hard plating is piled behind in him the sand. He doesn’t turn as they approach, but his large ears twitch and flick in their direction.  
Shiro’s arm is lit up, all bayards are at the ready, Coran and Allura both wielding electrified staffs. Lance’s form shifted, like he was trying to make himself smaller. The whole group was standing right behind him, the silence heavy.  
“It’s a lot quieter here than it was on Veradero Beach.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard above the constant roar of the ocean and the breeze. That was loud enough though.  
Hunk was on him in an instant, bayard put away and large arms squeezing hard as the two roll in the sand. When the pair finally sat up, both their faces stained with tears and sand stuck to their cheeks.  
“I don’t know how they did this to me, you guys. I don’t remember it and I’m so sorry.” Lance hiccuped, hugged Hunk’s bicep like it was his only connection to the world.  
Pidge and Keith stepped closer and knelt in the sand. The pair scrutinized him, then Pidge huffed out a laugh and nudged Keith with her elbow.  
“So does this mean you’re confirmed a furry now, Lance?” Her voice sounded water when she laughed at face Lance made, mock offended. She wiggled into Hunk’s vice grip and hugged around Lance’s bare torso, nuzzled her face into the soft fur. Lance looked up from her as she settled, eyes on Keith as unsure as the red paladin’s own.  
“I mean, purple looks good on you? Or, uh, compliments your eyes?” Keith cleared his throat. “Maybe you can actually take me in a fight now, cargo pilot.”  
Lance made a noise somewhere between a sob and laugh and reached out for Keith, pulled the other man into the pile and hugged him tight.  
The three looked up as one when Shiro approached, but the man’s face was blank and he remained silent. Lance felt panic start to claw up his throat at that stoic gaze and when he caught sight of the artificial right arm, the knowledge of its history hit him hard. He began babbling apologies, trying to take back what his people had done, to gain forgiveness for his appearance and his abandonment of the the team. Shiro let out a long sigh and held up his hand. Lance quieted himself in an instant even as he still clung to the other paladins, claws like a vice and arms trembling.  
“Lance, facing what’s happened can be hard. It will be hard, but we’re all here for you. I don’t know how similar our experiences were, if they were at all, but you can always talk to me, okay? You’re still family to us.”  
“Even though I’m purple?” It felt stupid to ask, but Lance felt obligated to do so and felt himself relax when the black paladin let out a small laugh and reached down to pull them all to their feet.  
“Even if you’re purple.”  
As a group, the paladins turned to Allura and Coran. The elder of the two is practically vibrating with excitement, though his eyes are still sad. Staff discarded in the sand, he took two large steps forward and dropped his hand on Lance’s head affectionately, tousling the dark hair between his ears.  
“You had us more worried than an ephytorax down six limbs during olnos!” he chided.  
“I have to agree with Coran.” Allura spoke. Her gaze was hard, her fists still clenched around the staff. Lance cowered, tried to shrink into the awkward group hug that he was still the center of, but the princess caught it and schooled her expression into something softer.  
“Lance I am not mad at you. I am, however absolutely livid about what they have done to you.” Shiro pulled away from Lance to stand by Allura, where he looked like he belonged, and put a hand on her shoulder.  
“She’s already taking to you faster than she did the Blades or even Keith. Give it- give us time.”

Lance stumbled out of the healing pod, felt himself slipping back into consciousness as the icy wisps of magic floated away. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and found his vision filled with red. He was in Keith’s arms. Hunk was right behind him, steadying them both and crying again. He leaned into the warmth of Keith’s chests, still half asleep and cold from the pod, and looked around the room.  
Pidge was wedged between Coran and Allura, looking over the results of the scan they’d performed on him while he was in the pod: it was a full work-up that read everything from vitals right down to genetic code. Shiro was by the door to the medical bay, speaking quietly with a masked member of the Blade of Marmora. Lance found himself bristling at the traitorous--  
“Lance are you growling?”  
Lance’s attention was immediately on Keith, expression one of shock, and the man looked confused if not a little flushed. He glanced back at the pair in the doorway in time to see the blade nod to him and then leave. He exhaled through his nose. Reminded himself they were his allies.  
“Well we have good news, bad news, and worse news!” Coran announced loudly to the room, drawing the attention from a grateful Lance. “Despite every other scan reading Lance as Galra, his genetic code is still entirely human which means this is a manipulation of the body and of his quintessence.”  
“The bad news,” Pidge popped up over Coran’s shoulder, “is that we have no clue how to fix it.”  
“The worse news, thank you Pidge, is that we also have no idea if or when Lance will recover from this. You’re sure they weren’t feeding you any drugs or zapping you in your sleep?”  
Lance shook his head. The quintessence treatments and medication had stops movements before the announcement of his marriage to Lotor. He’d been treated for fevers and previous magic attacks, or so he was always told. Obviously it had all been a lie in some form or another.  
“The druids must think this will be permanent if they stopped fiddling with you.” Allura’s voice was dark and angry, her focus still on the scans.  
Shiro dismissed everyone, advised that relaxation was the best use of team Voltron’s time while they had the chance. He told them the Blade was running interference, would let them know if any of Lotor’s fleet got close.

Dinner was quiet. Everyone had brought their bowls into the common room and huddled together to eat. Everyone was in some contact with Lance and he bathed in the warmth to glean as much familiarity from it as he could. Pidge had eventually untangled herself from the knot of their legs twisted together, gone back to the lab and her computers with a determined gleam in her eyes. Shiro had left shortly after, taking the Princess with him as he urged her to sleep in hushed tones. Coran had patted his head, then left as well with a call of “glad to have you back” from the doorway. Hunk fell asleep, still telling Lance how much they’d missed him and how glad he was to have him back. Lance had to get Keith’s help to free him when the yellow paladin rolled to the side and pinned him against the couch cushions.  
Keith had laughed quietly, and Lance responded in kind. They sat together on the floor, whispering to one another about anything and everything. Mostly, it was Lance talking and Keith filling in the blanks when the former hesitated or looked lost. Eventually even Keith nodded off too, leaned against the sofa Hunk occupied. Lance plucked a couple blankets off the floor and draped them over the two before quietly moving out of the room.  
It was late and Lance was exhausted but his nerves kept him awake. He felt twitchy but weighed down by emotions he couldn’t place as he wandered the halls. The lights were dim and the hum of the castle a constant quiet drone. It was calming and a blatant contrast to how the sounds of the Galra ships had always grated his nerves. Lance wandered until his footsteps echoed and he looked up to find himself in the massive expanse of the hangar.  
The blue lion loomed ahead of him, eyes glowing, muzzle lowered to the floor. Her presence is massive, but no different from the other lions. He remembered feeling her like an extra voice in his mind or a comforting pressure at the back of his skull, but now there is only silence.  
“Just talk to her like you always did before, Lance. She’s waiting on you.” Lance practically jumped out of his skin, whirled around to see Pidge in the green Lion’s bay surrounded by miles of wire and several computer screens all lit up. How he’d missed her before was a mystery. She was ignoring him again, head ducked behind a computer screen and lens white from the reflected light of it. Lance nodded to himself and to her, then turned and closed the distance between himself and the Blue lion.  
He stared up at her sleek, gigantic body. He considered bowing or saluting but it felt wrong. Just talk to it. Just talk to her. He should remember that much, surely.  
“Hey there,” He glanced back in time to see Pidge’s head pointedly drop behind a computer. She was definitely watching him now. His ears fell back against his head. This was ridiculous. He reached out carefully, touched his clawed hand to her muzzle and was accosted by the overwhelming vibration of a purr from within his own mind. The sheer volume and scale of it had him snatching his hand to his chest like he’d been burned, but the noise continued. It warmed every inch of his skin, right down to his tail which slowly unwound from his waist and flicked back and forth behind him. Lance felt his mouth stretch into a wide grin even as tears started to burn his vision. This pure elation, this unbridled joy was not his alone but it was certainly his to share.  
“Miss me beautiful?”  
The Blue lion rumbled, the hatch in her mouth opened and he scrambled inside. Everything was illuminated in soft blue light and Lance moved slowly as he took it all in like it was his first taste of air after almost drowning. Inevitably he ended up in the pilot’s bay, dragged his hands across the chair before dropping into it.  
Lance laughed out loud, felt the jubilant noise crack open on a sob at the sheer relief he felt. This was real, it was right and true. Blue held nothing from, would never evade his questions like Lotor had, would never lie to him. Her love was unconditional and endless.  
As his emotions quieted under the constant sensation of safety, the all encompassing love that their reopened bond offered, Lance felt himself drifting. He turned in the chair as it reclined just enough for him to rest comfortably when he curled into a ball with his arms tucked against his own chest. He’d need a shower in the morning. This much crying always made the fur on his face look awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up at keidrawscrap on tumblr!


	4. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter delving into the life of Lance and Lotor before our blue boy reunites with team Voltron

The first thing he becomes aware of is darkness: an inky black void that consumes all light and leaves him blind and immobile. When the shadows recede, he howls in agony. His body is on fire, electricity searing every nerve as he thrashes against bonds that he cannot see. He feels straps, unforgiving in their bite, digging into his wrists, ankles, stomach, and neck. Blinding bright lights came next, searing his retinas, making him cry and struggle to look away. The figures that loomed over him were faceless shadows made of the same inky blackness that he fell back into when the pain overwhelmed him. And so it went, on and on for an eternity. He didn’t know his name, his own face. He knew only darkness and light, agony and all-encompassing numbness.

The next thing he becomes aware of is a voice reaching through the darkness, gentle and beckoning. He cracks his eyes open, wary of the light and the pain, but they never come. His vision is blurred, but the light is a soft magenta that doesn’t hurt his eyes and the air is cool. He’s not bound anymore, merely laid flat out with a single soft pillow beneath his head and a heavy blanket warming him. Lavender skin, golden eyes, white hair. Everything in his vision was shapes and colors, but he could tell there was a face leaned in close to watch him. This other being reached out, rubbed its knuckles against his cheek in a feather-light touch that shocked every nerve and made him wail and jerk away weakly.  
“Oh it still hurts.” He sucked in short, rapid breaths, opened the eyes he’d squeezed shut and turned to the source of the quiet voice. “Do you recognize me?”  
He swallowed and inhaled slowly. He blinked hard a few times until his vision cleared. The man sitting at his bedside did indeed have lavender skin and an impressive mane of slicked back white hair, but his eyes were not simply a solid gold. His sclerae was the striking yellow that looked like it probably glowed in the dark, but his iris was a dark purple. Pointed ears, broad shoulders, a hand with sharp claws that touched him gently rather than tearing him apart like he expected. The man looked familiar but only in the vaguest sense of the word. He shook his head and the man smiled.  
“Do you know who you are?” He shook his head no again, because he didn’t. When he searched for any memory of himself, he came up only with the images of shadows and pain. He whined, tried not to cry and failed. The other man took his hand, squeezed it.  
“My name is Lotor and your name is Lance.” The man spoke quietly. “You are an amazing creature, a soldier in the Galra army, and my betrothed.” The names had sparked something in him and he looked up, searched the man’s face for something. He wasn’t sure what but all he found was a genuine softness staring back at him.  
“What happened to me?” Lance’s croaked, his voice raspy and raw and low. The sting that lit up his senses where Lotor touched him was fading slowly. He looked away and finally noticed the tube attached to his other arm, a golden liquid dripping steadily down and feeding into his arm. His arm was a dark purple: purple skin with a layer of soft short fur in matching hue, with a lighter shade marking his arm in patterned patches. He flexed his hand, watched the light catch on his own sharp claws. It felt wrong, made him shiver.  
“Lance?” His ears twitched, angled towards Lotor’s voice before his head had the chance to. He murmured an apology that Lotor dismissed quickly with a wave of his free hand.  
“You were very sick, for a very long time, my treasure. You were in battle, fighting my fight, and were taken by enemy forces. They tortured you, hurt you, interrogated you, but you gave them nothing. I was impressed by your dedication and loyalty. I always am. When we finally got you, you were delirious and dying. The druids had to use magic to keep you alive once the fever rose, but it finally broke a couple quintents ago. I haven’t left your side since I got the news. I wanted to be the first face you saw. I thought it might calm you to see a loved one, but…”  
“But I don’t know you.” Lance finished for him, feeling guilty when other man dropped his head. “Tell me more?”

The weeks were most often filled with a sort of domestic bliss. Lance slept far more than he felt he should be, but Lotor assured him it was because he was healing and his body needed all its energy for that. His waking vargas were spent with Lotor. The man would sit as his bedside and tell him stories of their years together. Stories of meeting as children, bright eyed and innocent, of coming of age together, of their first times together. Stories of how taken Lotor had become when Lance had joined the military, how proud he’d been when Lance rose through the ranks, became an asset to the royal dignitaries and essential member of their tactical team. Lotor laughed when he told Lance how adamant the latter had been in them not becoming intimate while he was still training, how Lotor had only ever gotten as far as heavy petting before Lance would chastise him and lovingly remind him of the promises they made to one another. Lance would apologize profusely, stricken by how utterly void of recollection his mind was, but Lotor hushed him and kissed his cheek and forehead and assured him there was nothing to apologize for.  
“You are not the one at fault, Lance. You put yourself in harm’s way to save your team. You were a hero. The consequences of your actions are punishment enough I’d say. And besides, this just means we get to have all our firsts again now, at the height of our physical strength. Maybe this time around, you’ll let me have you completely.”  
After that, they flirted and kissed and Lotor reenacted all the courting rituals of their youth with extravagant gifts and wild floral arrangements. He went so far as to enter the arenas and win a fight in Lance’s honor. Lance was touched, if not embarrassed by the show.  
The only hiccups in the otherwise serene little bubble they’d formed in Lance’s room was the druids. When they came to feed quintessence into his veins, nausea and terror would overwhelm his every sense. He’d forget to breathe, sobbing aloud, bristling at their appearance. He even drew a weapon from Lotor’s belt in an attempt to ward them off. They had to restrain him after that when it was time for treatments. Lance would spend the following day curled up in his bed, listless and terrified while nightmares and dreams swirled in confusing visions.  
“The things you are seeing make perfect sense, treasure.” Lotor told him one night.  
His final treatment two nights prior had been particularly hard on him. Lotor had been away on business, leaving him alone with the druids who informed him this dose would be the largest, probably the hardest on his body. He’d blacked out at some point, woken by nightmares that felt far too real. Flashes of an endless body of crystalline blue water and the sound of laughter, his own voice among them. Flashes of somebody barking at him, yelling insults about his piloting abilities as he stared at his boots. Flashes of a great mechanical beast towering over him and letting out an ear-shattering roar. Flashes of battles, of colored armor, the castle Altea, of the Galra army. Flashes of faces with features to warped to recognize, voices calling his name, screaming for him. Flashes of the druids over him, of every single cell in his body fighting against what was being done to it.

Lance was holding his own tail, the broad tuft of dark fur on the end twitching in response to his own restless nerves. Lotor had returned, taken one look at him and crawled into the bed. He held Lance to his chest, purring sweet reassurances and hushing him.  
“Your mind is trying to recover memories and struggling to reconcile what happened to you. The beach is from a planet we met on as children, the piloting instructor is from our academy, I’m sure. The rest is from your fights with Voltron. You encountered their villainy even more than me and I’m sure it affected you, especially after what they did.”  
Lance pressed his face into Lotor’s neck, took comfort in the man’s embrace, and let the topic drop...because it didn’t sound right. 

It didn’t sound right that a tactical sniper and diplomat, Lance’s given titles, was on the front lines of so many battles. It didn’t sound right in the wake of a lifetime together, his mind was grasping for his darkest hours and enemies rather than the safety and familiarity of his family and home among the stars. He’d ask, when he felt strong enough, about what happened to him or about the meanings behind the muddled visions, and Lance didn’t like the way Lotor never wanted to delve into his nightmares about the druids. 

Movements and months dragged on.  
With Lotor’s help, and the aid of a behemoth soldier assigned as his personal attendant, Lance moved from the small room full of medical equipment and residual quintessence energy that made the air buzz. Lance learned to walk again, started to exercise and then train again. He was moved to the ship level that was personally Lotor’s, for residence and recreation.  
Taf worked on his hand to hand with him, made sure his muscles were aching at the end of each day. She used her hulking mass to overpower him, taught him to use his long limbs and lithe form to his advantage. She taught him to handle a knife, a short sword. When she handed him a gun, he took to it in an instant. Lotor smiled fondly, told him it had always been his weapon of choice. Lotor granted them access to his private shooting range for training. Lance was elated. The weight of a rifle felt good in his arms, made him feel whole. And he was an excellent shot. Instinct alone guided him through training programs with a gun in his hand. Taf urged him to expand his repertoire beyond a rifle. She brought him handguns and a long-necked sniper rifle that stood on its own kickstand. Lance excelled at all of them.  
His confidence exploded under the steady rumble of Taf guiding him through fight after fight and under Lotor’s sot croon reeducating him in politics and battle tactics. He strode the halls, head held high. No one looked upon him as lesser for what he’d been through, but many acted as if they’d never met him before.  
“Much of your work was done in the shadows before this. You often told me you preferred to go unaccredited, even letting it be misplaced on unqualified soldiers.”  
Lance shrugged it off, supposing that maybe that was something he would have done in the past.

Lance spent his free time lavishing in the luxuries of the royal baths and wondering at his own appearance, trying to relearn his own body. The first time he’d gone into the bath and seen himself reflected back in a full body mirror it had made him physically ill. He’d vomited, broken the mirror, and stumbled into the shower where he had collapsed. Lotor had found him hours later, pulling out his own fur and tugging harshly at his ears until the skin cracked and bled.  
Now he stood before an identical mirror, naked and breath controlled, as he familiarized himself with what he saw. He was just as tall as Lotor, broad in the shoulders with hard toned muscles and long thin limbs that shifted under soft fur. His reflection, his body still made a spike of anxiety crawl up his spine but he’d stopped admitting it to Lotor or Taf weeks ago.  
His hair was the darkest, and much nicer to look at now that he’d gotten it cut properly and it fell in short soft tuffs down his neck and along the edges of his face. The style was something Lance had had before, he was sure. His ears were large and very sensitive, with thin skin and fine dark fur across the backs. The ridges inside were rounded to follow the shape and small tufts of fur around the base felt even the slightest movement which had taken a great deal of getting used to. His ears were not unique: he’d seen plenty of Galra in their varied forms and man had large ears like his and some had even larger.The same fine diaphanous fur that covered the backs of his ears stretched down and along his neck. It grew out along his shoulders to tapered points that stretched down his arms like a stripe, and down along his spine out out to cover his whole tail and explode in a thick black puff at the end. There was a slightly thicker tuft as his elbows, and it thinned away to nothing at the bone of his wrist, leaving his hands with only the barely visible hair that most everyone had on their skin. His face, throat and the front of his abdomen were much lighter than the rest of his skin and it reminded him of the underbelly of a prey animal presented in surrender. The pale lavender stretched down over his most intimate areas too, along with his forearms and hands, and the bottom of his feet. The patterns at the edges of these marks, where his skin subtly got darker, were gentle curves like the ebb and flow of water. Lance thought it was pretty.   
He thought his eyes were pretty too. Almost every Galra he’d encountered had solid color to their eyes: a bright gold that did indeed glow in the dark like he’d expected it to- or remembered that it could. Lotor had his beautiful dark purple iris and pupil, unique only to him from what Lance’s memory could recall. Lance’s eyes were a mystery to him and Lotor called them a rarity and an impossibility in Galra blood, but there they were staring back at him: blue like oceans he couldn’t quite remember, blue like the colored accents on his armor and soft fabric of the clothes he wore for Lotor. Blue surrounded by a vivid white that grew bloodshot and red when he cried. 

“Riddle me this, Lotor.” Lance spoke suddenly over a meal he was sharing with his fiance. The Galra prince cocked an eyebrow at him, but swallowed his food and nodded for Lance to continue.  
“How come I’ve got a tail? I have yet to see one on anybody else--not that I’ve been looking or anything! I just...you’re laughing!”  
Lance pointed his fork accusingly at Lotor. The man covered his mouth, not stifling the chuckle that shook his shoulders. Lance kept his utensil aimed at his fiance, glaring playfully when the man opened up and laughed aloud.  
“Our species values strength, as you know, since we are a people at war.” Lance nodded. “Most Galra choose to have the tails of any offspring docked at birth. Tails are very rarely prehensile and would be an easily exploited vulnerability in a fight. Because of my heritage, I don’t have one.”  
“I’m sure your late father was thrilled of the advantage your genetics gave you.” Lance offered, reaching across the table to intertwine his fingers with Lotor’s. Lavender and purple squeezing and shifting together. Lotor dropped his gaze and grimaced. After a moment, clearly not remembering his father fondly, Lotor’s focus returned to him and the prince smiled softly.  
“Your tail was docked just like any other cub in line for royal betrothal, but you had damage to your spine and when the druid’s healed you it grew back.” Lotor shrugged, a small noncommittal motion of his shoulders. “We can have it removed if you like, but I think you look better with it.”  
Lance felt his face heating, looked away from Lotor’s suddenly heated gaze. His tail was very mobile; he could move it and hold it still with ease and very little conscious effort, but he couldn’t grab things with it and stress gave it a life of if its own. Lance looked down at it where it moved languidly back and forth, watched it lift and wrap around his waist like a belt just as the thought occurred to him.  
“I’ll keep it.” he decided, “No sense in removing it if you like it, my moon and stars.”  
Lotor rose from his seat, pulled Lance up into his arms and kissed him hard.   
“Tell me Lance, what must I do to bed you right this moment.”  
Lance gasped with the sudden force of Lotor’s movements, grasped his shoulders to catch his balance as he was pulled away from their table towards the nearby bed. 

Despite the heat and passion that possessed him, Lotor was soft and patient. His gentle attentions were steady and unyielding, making Lance relaxed and compliant under him. Lotor took his time, taking Lance apart until the Galra was a writhing, moaning mess barely capable of coherently begging for “more, my prince, more please”. With Lotor caging pinning him to the bed or holding him in his lap, the ecstasy was indescribable. Lance would fall over that edge again and again, coming back to himself cradled in Lotor’s easy embrace.   
Lance would cried afterward, every time without fail. It wasn’t a loud sobbing like he was in pain, but it wasn’t happy tears bubbling with laughter that his fiance hoped to find. It was a silent trembling with tears staining his cheeks, his eyes dark and chest tight with something that felt like grief--like he was losing something. Physical intimacy was limited to kissing and heavy petting after the third time it happened. Lotor didn’t want to push him and Lance appreciated it.

The more time Lance spent learning about the war he was fighting, the more time he spent learning about the countless people he would help to rule over, the more questions he had. He questioned the size of their military force and the force used on otherwise peaceful planets. He questioned the presence of the druids and the experiments they were allowed to perform. He questioned Lotor’s insistence that they destroy Voltron without Lance taking part in the fight. The more questions that Lance asked, the shorter and more evasive Lotor’s terse answers became. It continued like this until Lance stopped asking questions.  
Lance was intelligent enough to know when he wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, but that only made him want the answer more so he searched for information on his own. He would sneak away from Taf or the lieutenants working under him, he would dismiss young soldiers he was training early, he would go on walks to ‘clear his head’. All his ventures took him to security hubs or the druids awful labs, lead him headlong into archives with mile long walls of text about different missions he’d be told he lead: every single one had redacted parts or holes in the information that made his anxiety spike and his fur frizz. Lance stopped telling his beloved and betrothed about the dreams that made his waking hours feel wrong on a every level, or the nagging feeling that something was amiss. Lance never asked Lotor why when the prince’s stance gave away that he was lying or refused to meet his gaze.

Lance loved Lotor with all his heart, but he did not trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up @ keidrawscrap on tumblr


	5. Ever Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the present, lance might have to face his demons without even getting a proper facial first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha how about that for a summary?  
> @smiles4voltron updated her amazing fic "Let Me Catch My Breath" and it inspired me to get another chapter up on this thing.   
> I'm not to sure about the pacing on the this, but I think I got it down well enough.  
> Hit me with crit if you've got it.

Lance felt icy tendrils loosening their hold on him, heard the hiss of the pressurized lock release as he slowly woke from his dark dreamless slumber. His limbs touched solid ground and he stumbled forward, into a warm embrace. He grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes just yet. His body ached down to the bone and out to the tip of every hair. It was miserable, even if he wasn’t. When Lance did manage to open his eyes finally, he was leaning heavily on Hunk in one of the common areas. The circular sofa sunken into the floor was empty except for them, and the lights were markedly dimmed. Hunk was gingerly rubbing his back, hands working circles into the tense muscles. He scooted down so he was lying on his stomach, head in the Yellow Paladin’s lap, and let him continue lavishing attention.  
Lance had happily let Pidge and Coran run tests on him for weeks when he’d first arrived. He spent time reforging his bonds with them all individually, even joined them in team bonding exercises, but avoided combat training at all costs. He couldn’t bring himself to go up against his friends looking how he did, and now he wasn’t sure he could physically cope with it. Within a month of his return, Pidge had determined there was a way to gradually correct what had been changed in Lance but that the process would be long and unpleasant. With his memories still spotty, but becoming more solid by the day, Lance did not hesitate to consent to whatever she had in store for him. He reasoned it couldn’t be worse than whatever had happened to him while in Galra custody, even if he couldn’t remember that at all. Shiro assured him that having those black spots in his memory was just his mind protecting itself, admitted he had a few as well, and assured Lance that they would get through it together. He liked those talks with Shiro and how the reassured him that his emotional struggle to become normal again was valid..  
“You won’t ever be the same, Lance, but you don’t have to be. Normal just means healthy and safe. You can be that again. Just give yourself time.” He knew the Black Paladin spoke from experience, could see it in his heavy far-off gaze.   
The treatments took place in a modified healing pod, since he’d be in far to much pain if conscious. It reminded him of when his grandpa had gotten sick. He was weak and shaky all the time, drained of all energy after treatments and to sick to eat some days. He felt like he’d been sucked out a wormhole, chewed up and spit back in and his looks were absolutely not up to standard. His hair had changed first, becoming a rich dark brown that Lance knew it was supposed to be, and the color carried onto his otherwise unchanged very Galra-esque ears.The fine, purple fuzz that covered every inch of him was falling out in patches, leaving blotches of warm brown skin exposed and sensitive to the slightest touch like a burn. The fur on his tail had started fade into a softer brown, like it was being bleached by the sun, but the limb was jerky and sore and hung limply behind him like it wasn’t quite connected to him any longer. 

“I feel good about things, overall, I guess.” Lance spoke quietly to Coran as the older Altea ran a few basic tests on him to monitor his health. They were unnecessary really, but the pair kept that a secret and used the time to talk in a mutually beneficial and therapeutic sort of way. Some days Coran would go on and on about Altea and his friends and family from before the war, eyes unfocused and voice a low timbre that wavered with unspoken grief. Other days- most days if Lance was honest- Lance would talk out his own concerns about the future and his place with the team and about how he was now.  
“I mean I feel good about where I am with you guys right now, as a person, but I don’t know about this whole un-galra-fier that Pigeon has me using. I wonder if it’s worth it, you know?”  
“That is entirely up to you, my boy.” Coran nodded sagely, pretended to take his blood pressure. “If you wish to stop then we will stop. Your health is our top priority, not your purple complexion. I don’t think a single person aboard this ship would fault you for stopping. I’d probably stop myself. Never been much of a fan of losing my hair.”  
Lance laughed when Coran twirled his mustache dramatically and let the room settle into amicable silence like the often did.

Hunk had helped him clip his nails back into clean rounded edges, spent the day sanding and painting them to make him feel better, which Lance appreciated. Keith had even offered to do face masks with him until Pidge pointed out that painting good on fur was probably a bad idea. Lance had laughed delightedly when Keith’s face erupted in a vivid, embarrassed red and the Red Paladin had rushed from the room.  
Lance found him later, found him easily.   
They shared a room now: it had been Keith’s idea, much to Lance’s surprise. The first few nights alone in his old bed had been disastrous, filled with nightmares and leaving Lance guilty for waking Hunk for comfort. Keith had witnessed it and offered his bed over a quiet breakfast shared between the two while everyone else was off working with the Marmorites. His room, Keith explained, was the closest room to the Lion Hangars relatively speaking and maybe sharing a bed with someone else would calm Lance’s restless mind. He had tried to sound put out as he offered it, but his ears were tinged pink and Lance didn’t miss the shine of vulnerability in his expression. Lance been honest when he debriefed his team about his life with Lotor so they knew he’d been spending his nights in a bed shared with another. Lane deeply appreciated the gesture. Even if their sleeping schedules were irregular with Lance requiring extra rest and Keith going to train against Altean robots at odd hours of the night, the Blue Paladin was grateful. The warmth of a body next to his, the familiar scent of someone else on his pillow, and someone to say goodnight and good morning to all made it easier.  
Not to mention, all the extra “mullet time”, as Lance dubbed it, had reignited the tentative flame between them. It was nights spent cuddled together in the dark, talking about everything and nothing, retelling old stories like they were intimate secrets. It was minute gestures of physical affection when they were inevitably drawn to one another’s side like squeeze of the hand or a bump of the shoulder--Lance even kissed Keith’s cheek at one point and didn’t see him again for hours. Pidge and Hunk had shrieked and cackled like the evil gremlins they were, mocking the two for ever thinking their affection were secret.  
“We knew how you felt about him back at the Garrison, dude. And it didn’t take long to figure out what he was into once we all got roped into this whole Voltron saving the universe mess.” Hunk had hugged his best friend, laughing as the other wailed in denial. Pidge went so far as to announce that their betting pool was officially back on and that Shiro was in good standing to make quite a few GAK of their budding romance. Their leader was aghast at this, adamantly denying having ever partaken in it.  
“Gambling on a friend’s love life is wrong, Katie!” he’d chastised. No one bought his story.

Lance and Keith became official with the gracelessness and violence of an angry toddler. The whole team bore witness to Lance’s meltdown. He was going stir crazy. They’d eased up on the treatments and he wasn’t sore or weak any more. His agility and strength were proven in his proficiency with training against the Altea robots and he’d even finally managed to face off with his fellow paladins, no longer instinctively seeing them as enemies but rather as family to be protected like he was meant to all along. Shiro and Allura vehemently denied his desire to start going on missions, even simple ones. Pidge and Hunk didn’t say who they sided with, but their silence made it clear enough. Lance was livid. He made an impressive argument, even got the visiting Marmorites to side with saying his capabilities were an asset and his experience essential. Keith had scoffed at his demand to be let aboard their next mission to a small hostage planet. It had escalated quickly until they were screaming at each other. Hunk and Shiro holding from bring the dispute to blows.  
“Who the hell gave you right to decide anyway mullet? Give me one quiznaking reason why I should listen to you, huh!” Lane had snapped form other Hunk’s shoulder, scrambling to climb over him and face his opponent. Keith had managed to squirm out of Shiro’s grip and stagger up to him, face red and teeth bared.  
“Because I love you and so does everyone else and you’re being stupid!”  
That had shut Lance up, had taken all the wind from his sails. In fact, it shut everyone up. Keith had stormed from the deck to his Lion’s hangar, and waited to depart from there. Lance didn’t go on that mission, but he did announce loudly over the speakers from his spot by Coran and Allura that he’d go on the next one come Hell or high water and oh by the way, he kind of loved Keith too. Pidge told him later that the Red Lion had appeared to be on autopilot for the rest of the mission.   
That night, Lance had settled beneath the blankets, watching Keith pace awkwardly around bed and avoid looking at him until it became clear that the Red Paladin wasn’t sure what their boundaries were anymore, like something had changed and he didn’t know what that meant. Lance had sat up and promptly yanked him onto the bed, used Keith’s surprise to his advantage and pinned him to the mattress.  
“So are we like...boyfriends now?” Lance had asked. Keith hid his face in his hands and choked out “If you want to be.” Lance had pulled his hands away and kissed him right then. It was soft but excited and their teeth had clicked a little more than he would have liked, but it was perfect.

It was on one of these nights, his and Keith’s bodies pressed together, breathing in each other’s presence and playfully insulting each other in the midst of kind words, that the castle alarm blared. The bright red lights flashed, leaving a lingering image in Lance’s eyes even as the two moved automatically, donning their armor and making a mad dash for their lions at the princess’s urgent voice over the intercom. A nearby plant was being besieged by the Galra right that minute, but they still had time to stop it, to save the planet from ever being exploited. The wormhole opened and all five lions shot out into the chaos of a battle already being fought.  
Ships exploded, lasers lit up and flew passed them in the void of space. Team Voltron moved as single cohesive unit, taking out ships in tandem with long and short range attacks until all that was left were the soldiers that had already landed. The castle-ship appeared behind them, ready to take up arms should more enemies appear in the darkness and the lions descended through the atmosphere.  
Lance didn’t like the familiar look of the massive ship landed in the center of the city they were approaching, a tight knot of dread filling his chest. He cautioned his team that if this was Lotor’s unit, they would be brutal and immensely skilled. These would all be soldiers, no drones in sight, and every single one of them was leaps and bounds more skilled than any militant that he could recall fighting. Their skill was akin to the Blade of Marmora in agility, but they fought dirty and would keep fighting until they were dead. Lance knew this because he had trained with them, had taught some of them to be that way.  
They hide the lions at a distance and advance from the shadows, letting Lance taking out sentinels from a distance and Keith and Shiro move in for quiet close-up sneak attacks. When the streets opened up and the soldiers were all amassed there, pushing the citizens of the plant aboard the massive ship, the team erupted in a flurry of movement and noise. Hunk barreled through soldiers with his bayard and his body. Pidge ducked and dodged, taking out as many as she could as she edged closer to try and intercept the signals their ship was using to keep it grounded. Shiro and Keith dove in head first, fighting just as ruthlessly and just as dirty as every soldier they encountered. Lance moved at the back, picking off as many as he could with vicious efficiency, never letting too many get too close to Pidge or letting the Galra close all their openings around the others.   
Another wave of soldiers came rolling out from the side of the ship and Lance realized he’d miscalculated, that Lotor had brought sentry droids aboard his ship and that his team was horribly outnumbered. “Keep fighting! We can do this!” Shiro’s voice crackled on through the speakers on his helmet. They moved as one, closer to open bay at the front of the ship, eager to liberate the aliens inside and eliminate the threat. The Galra were all around them, mostly sentries now, surrounding them and actually pushing them closer to the waiting maw and its foreboding magenta glow. An unexpected shot from somewhere to the side clipped Lance’s shoulder and he stumbled, corrected and righted himself in time to shoot the metallic heads off two sentries working to overpower Pidge. Shot another sneaking up on Keith as he moved to take two more away from ones circling Shiro. There were too many, piling on top of his team, drowning their color coded white armor in waves of purple and black. It was too much, Lance was losing track of them in the onslaught. His own circle was growing smaller by the second.  
Lance looked around for high ground desperately. If he could just get a better vantage point, could see his team better, he could help them. He knew the formation the sentries were using and it was all about overwhelming them at eye level. If he could get above the madness on the ground, he could thin the herd and break them loose but there was no hope of it. The only place with any height was the ramp leading into the massive ship. He squared his jaw and pulled a small grenade from his belt, detonated it and threw it into the throngs of purple directly ahead of him, shielding his eyes as it hit the ground. When it went off the explosion was minuscule but the bright white light was dazzling. It was disrupting the sentries’ visual receptors, blinding the Galra’s sensitive eyes. Lance dashed forward, ducking and darting through grappling limbs and smoke, ignored the smell of blood and fire in the air until his feet hit steel and clanged against it rapidly as he ascended. The ramp was clear and he turned his back to the entrance, started pick off soldiers as soon as he saw blinks of any color that wasn’t purple.  
Hunk erupted from below a mountain of them as soon as Lance started knocking the robots useless, launched himself at Pidge and freed her with ease. The Green Paladin yelled her thanks to him then lifted her arm and the holographic keyboard appeared. She typed in something and Lance saw a chain of small explosions frying circuits as sentries started to collapse in waves, then rose again with blue lights in their visors. That beautiful brain of her had just got them a small backup army! The newly commandeered sentries started breaking through their brethren toward Shiro and Keith until there was nothing of them left and the Paladins were moving toward them. Lance kept picking of the sentries behind him until he realized the soldiers had stopped approaching and simply stood surround them, blocking their escape. A solid barrier of bodies.  
The rest of them seemed to realize this as well and their approach faltered. They turned as one to face the wall of unmoving enemy combatants, weapons at the ready. Every one that Lance picked off was replaced immediately. Hunk rained fire down on them with his barrier and another row stepped over the fallen to close the group in tighter against the ship’s ramp. Lance felt his ears swivel before he even registered the sound of footsteps, whirled around with his bayard lifted and ready to fire, but faltered immediately. Lotor looked so sad, eyes full of hurt and pity. His stance wasn’t one of someone about to attack, but of someone approaching a fatally wounded animal.   
“Stay back, Lotor! I know you lied. I know who I am now! I’ll shoot you!” Lance lifted his bayard again, hoping the weapon was imposing enough to cover the crack and waver in his voice. He was hesitating and he hated it. He hated knowing that behind him, his team was watching and was fighting and here he was with a clear shot at a figurehead for the evil empire they were at war with...and he was blowing smoke. Lotor took several steps closer, until Lances’ bayard was pressed to his chest, scuffing his polished armor and weighing heavier in Lance’s arms than it ever had.   
He heard someone yell his name, felt the burst of heat from a blaster impacting with his side and felt ever impact as he tumbled back down the ramp, rolling to a stop among his teammates. He must not have moved, dazed by the impact and the implications of his own inability to fire, because suddenly he was in Shiro’s arms as the black Paladin knelt and spoke urgently to him. Then his helmet was yanked off and he finally cleared his head enough to sit up and brush the panic of his friends off. They shouldn’t be worried about him. They should furious at him for wasting that opportunity.   
He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look into those eyes and fire his bayard. Those eyes held the same soft reverence he’d seen every day and night for years, had spent countless intimate moments with, had learned and grown strong with. He couldn’t shoot Lotor. He still loved Lotor and the guilt almost made Lance as sick as the knowledge that, based on Keith’s wounded expression, the Red Paladin knew it too. Lance pressed his hand against his burnt side and rose to his feet with Shiro’s help, then looked up at the sound of approaching steps on the ramp.

Lotor looked down his nose at the Voltron Paladins, shaking his head slowly.  
“Oh Lance, look at what they’ve done to you. Look at what you’ve become.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up at keidrawscrap on tumblr


End file.
